An Ordinary Legend
by A Dreamer's Scribbles
Summary: The vicious circle of Draco's mind leaves him with nothing to do but look for a release. Unsure as to what the future holds actually, he was quite aware of it, he wanders looking for a way to ease his mind. Not only does he find his future, but a mystery
1. Chapter One

An Ordinary Legend

Disclaimer: I own nothing. The entire HP series belongs to JKR. The song I refer to in this chapter is Angels by Melissa Etheridge.

_This is the story of a girl. Perhaps you think it ordinary, and it is. But these everyday ordinaries are what become the beginnings of legends. _

_At the beginning, I hated her. Well, to be honest with myself, and you, the eventual reader, I didn't hate **her**…I hated what she stood for and her family and the image they portrayed. I can only assume on my part that this feeling was mutual. _

_I ignored her for the most part, though how I did when she had hair like that I'll never know. It wasn't her that I had the issue with, per say. It was her brother and his insufferable friends, and she was just conveniently present on a few occasions. _

_I never knew how it started, this fascination…it's not like I could acknowledge it to my housemates, and I kept it close to me… _

…_Forgive me; I felt that had to leave you for a few minuets. You see, it is all ironic. Every single thought I posses turns down the path towards my memory of her. On this particular event, I remembered her favorite song…a song called Angels, the phrase "**I keep it close, like a holy man prays**…" spinning around and around in my head. Perhaps I am unstable in my mind…the complete ramblings or an inane and thoughtless existence. _

_Or perhaps not thoughtless as I seem to be unable to do anything but think. I regress. _

_It started with the occasional glance her way, the feeling of eyes, tension, and becoming aware of her presence. It slowly became so that I knew where she was if we shared the same hallway, so that I knew when she entered the Great Hall, and when she left. This was not a conscious acceptance on my part. _

…_Perhaps I am still denying everything, as she said. Perhaps it is better this way. _

_Please forgive me, but I must leave you now. I do not think that I would like any more of this self-pitying left behind in evidence for you, reader. _

_As always,_

_D. Malfoy._

He sighed as he put down the little black leather bound book. His mother had given it to him for his last birthday in the hopes that he would be able to receive peace of mind with sharing his thoughts. It seemed to have the exact opposite effect, Draco thought, than perhaps the trouble he would have encountered confiding in his housemates.

As he languidly stretched and swung his long legs off of his bed, he looked around his dorm. It was the same as it had been for the last six years, and he wished that he could change everything and nothing.

Emerald green curtains twitched in the bed next to him, and a curly black head made its way into the outside world of the dorm.

"Malfoy, where's my black eagle quill that I lent you? I need it for this charms essay. My white one's just broken." Blaise Zabini muttered.

Draco looked down at the quill that he held in his left hand. "Here," he said, handing it to the raven eyed boy, "I've just finished." Blaise nodded his approval and retreated into his private world.

The blonde shook his head in quiet wonder, never understanding the Italian boy's workings, ignoring the fact that Zabini could have easily fixed his first quill in a heartbeat.

A muffled sigh came from the bed. "Malfoy, do you have an spare ink? Mine's just spilled over the rest of my parchment." Obligingly, Draco went to the trunk at the end of his bed. "I have green ink, and I have blue ink. I don't have any black ink as I know you're so fond of."

He smirked at the thought of Zabini's expression. He knew his fellow Slytherin's face would be twisted into a grimace. "Green would be preferable. Thank you." A pale hand reached out of the velvet drapes.

Placing the inkpot into his ally's elegant hand, Draco sat on his own bed. "And do make sure that the professors can read your writing. I'm sure that Flitwick won't find it amusing to decipher most of your work….again."

An aggravated grunt was his only reply.

Draco himself had finished the charms essay long ago, and found himself restless. Grabbing his cloak, he swung it around his shoulders and did up the engraved silver clasp. "Zabini, I'm going for a walk. Don't forget that dinner's in a hour."

He got no reply.

Shutting the door behind him, he walked down the stone steps, wondering where he would go, and then abandoning the idea of a set route. He would let his feet take him where they would.

Entering the common room, he looked around at the empty room. Shrugging himself deeper into his cloak, he quickly exited the portrait.

His feet wondered down the halls, softly padding down the familiar paths. He stood on one of the staircases, preparing to get off near the library, when the staircase didn't stop and continued on.

Finally it ended its revolving and he came to a landing. It seemed that there was nothing for him to do but wait for the next staircase, as there were only three portraits in front of him.

The landing had the largest portrait in the middle, and on the left and right of him were a few steps leading to the other two paintings. He looked at them skeptically, and spoke to the young wizard in front of him who was doing his own evaluation.

"How long do you think it will take for the next one to arrive here?" he asked. The painting shrugged. "I don't know. You're the first student to come here for the last few years." He sighed.

"You know, I should really not give into any future impulses of mine, should I? It seems like Sod's Law is just waiting around the corner. Sweet irony, eh? I'm just too spontaneous for my own good. " the blonde stopped in shock when the portrait swung open.

"What's this?" he asked in bewilderment. The wizard in the painting smiled. "You said the password, and I'm sure it would be more interesting to wait in here than on this landing. Don't you agree, old boy? Just do try not to disturb her."

Quickly looking around, Draco stepped into the portrait hole. "Only one thing for it, I suppose." He wondered who the portrait could have been talking about, and what the exact password had been.

When he looked up, he froze in shock.

Please, let me know what you think of it? Should I continue on with it? Or what? Reviews are always loved.

Thanks.


	2. Chapter Two

An Ordinary Legend

Chapter Two

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_He walked in and looked up in shock…_

There, on the wide, cushioned windowsill sat a girl with curly brown hair and blue eyes. It would have been perfectly ordinary, he mused, if she wasn't hovering six inches off the cushions.

He looked around, taking in the heavy fabrics used in the upholstery on the elaborately carved furniture, the silver embroidery on the thick burgundy cushions. It looked as if he had walked into a king's private drawing room.

"I was wondering how long it would be until someone found this place." She smiled. Draco tried not to let his mask break.

"How long…? I don't suppose I could get a sensible answer if I asked who you were and what this place was?" he questioned succulently, trying to worm his way towards the answers to the million questions racing through his mind.

"No."

_Well, that was abrupt. _

"Sit with me for a while, child." Child? He looked like he could only have been three years younger than her. Her blue gaze never wavered. "Will you join me or not? I will wait another seven years for the next one, if I must. I will not, however, make such an allowance for your indecision."

He sat. Simple as, he decided. This girl, woman, angel, _being _was too compelling. Looking up at her, he took in her ringlets-glow-peach-_smile_-she was overwhelming. He wanted to take out his leather notebook and write. Write until the ink ran out, until his fingers bled and his blood became the script.

He stared. She smiled. "What are you?" he asked, for once feeling inarticulate, as if he had lost the words and elegance that were his birthright.

She giggled. "Oh, darling child! I am to some, inspiration. To others, creativity. To more, a Greek myth." She paused for a second, eyeing him, "I suppose the easiest and quickest way to explain to you is that am a Muse"

"A muse."

"Yes, child, a muse. But that is a very simplistic and basic description. The Greeks believed that we were goddesses, providing inspiration for musicians, artist, poets and those dedicated to many other studies." A brilliant smile broke through, "I don't want to bore you during our first meeting, but the Greeks assigned 'us' names and 'we' became patrons to arts. What they hadn't figured out is that we were not all women, and there were only four of us. Imagine!"

Draco felt rather like Great Aunt Boeotia at a dinner party – laughing at jokes he had no hope in understanding.

"So, you are a muse. But why are you sitting here, telling me this?"

"Oh, now darling – that's much too serious a talk! You must come back and talk to me some other time. _Do _bring your little book with you, please? Now hurry, darling, it's almost time for your dinner!"

The white blonde allowed himself a fleeting feeling of surprise. Dinner? Why, he'd only been in the room for a few minutes!

As he made his way over to the portrait hole, he was stopped. "Draco darling, please don't forget the password – it would be such a, such a _sweet irony_ if you forgot it."

Nodding, the teenager slipped out of the portrait, bid him goodnight, and hurried towards the Great Hall.

Entering the Great Hall, he welcomed the familiar barrage to his senses, letting his body take over and surrendering. It was a welcome distraction.

Harry and Ron watched as the platinum blonde boy walked through the doors, a certain stiffness to his blank face.

"Oi, 'Mione, what do you think's up with his highness?"

Hermione looked up from her plate. "What?"

Ron sighed. "What do you think made Malfoy so late to dinner?" Harry nodded, "Yeah, I mean, he looked kind of…." He looked to Ron, and the red head shrugged. "Out of it."

Hermione shook her head, "Honestly, how should I know what goes on in that boy's head. It's not as if I even think about talking to him." She sent the two boys a significant glance. "I think I found some text that you'd be interested in, Harry."

Down the bench, Ginny was listening intently. It was the first mention of anything out of the ordinary from the Golden Trio this year, and she wished that they would say more. Texts, well, she knew Hermione would find something or other in a book, but what in the devil was Ron going on about with Malfoy? She wished they would leave well enough alone – there was enough to worry about without getting involved with petty rivalries and unfounded truths.

She took in the way that his hair was falling most gracefully to rest on his forehead, causing him to sweep it away with an elegant hand. Porcelain skin reflected the light, and made him look like he was glowing. She imagined, for a second, that there was a faint glow about him.

She shook her head, inwardly laughing at her childish and insane thoughts, and took another scoop of the wonderful pudding.

Fairy lights and grey-eyed boys could wait. Ginny's favorite pudding was served, and she didn't like how Colin was eyeing her plate.


	3. Chapter Three

An Ordinary Legend

Chapter Three

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Steam shrouded a figure, a white towel firmly secured around her, long hair swinging.

"Just for me the, church bells rang. Now he's gone, I don't know why. Until this day, sometimes I cry…He didn't even say goodbye, he didn't take the time to lie. Bang, bang…." The voice trailed off as she wiped the condensation from the mirror, honey eyes peering back at her.

"He shot me down." She sighed. "Bang, bang...my baby shot me down." She whispered.

Shaking herself out of her melancholy state of mind, Ginny reached for her hairbrush. Reaching behind her, she struggled to pull the bristles through. Looking at reflection, she yanked, pulled, primped and preened until she felt ready to replace the mask and face the day.

Squaring her shoulders, she entered her dorm, quickly grabbed her things and started another routine, another day, and another play.

"Seasons came and changed the time. When I grew up I called him mine…." She softly sang as she walked down the halls to the Great Hall. Entering, she headed towards the Golden Trio and plonked herself down.

"Good morning!" Hermione smiled over her coffee cup. Ginny smiled back "Good morning? How many of those have you had?" Hermione glanced at the boys and then at the cup, "Well, I'd only say about three. I'm sure you understand…"

Ginny looked at the boys, disheveled and food protruding at the corner of their mouths, and grimaced. "Completely."

She waited, just like she always did, for the time to pass and something, anything, to happen. Time was a commodity. She was sick of its vacation.

Wandering through the halls that day, it seemed that she had that old song permanently running through her head.

She felt that there was too much _tension-frighten-pressure-suffocating-air-need _pressing down on her to think clearly, unable to stand being in the same room as the cheerful students. Heading out doors, she wandered around the grounds to her favorite spot – a stone bench in a tiny garden centering about a fountain.

The fountain was carved with wonderful scenes of a woman minstrel with long hair, of harps and flutes, and of gods singing. She always came and sat on the same bench, in the same spot, and stared at the same carving of the woman – for it was the same woman in all of the carvings – wondering who she was, what her story was and why she had a fountain.

Today was no different, except that there was a man perching – no - floating a few centimeters above the waterspout. She was surprised to see he was not getting wet, but that the water flowed up and around him, as if he was a part of the fountain himself.

She stared in astonishment.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked rather forthrightly. The man smiled_. Melt me-breathe-angel-smile-glow-breaking-heartbeat-calm. _"Who are you?" she reiterated when he did not answer. He unsettled her, and she didn't like it.

"I am known as Euterpe, Clio, Terpsichore, Urania, or Erato. I have more names, and more beings. I am a muse, to some. Yes, I believe that is what you have named me – a muse." He smiled at her, his black hair flopping down onto his forehead, white teeth stark against his dark complexion.

Ginny was glad she was sitting down, at that point. "So, you inspire people to create things. Music, art, that sort of thing, right?" she asked. The dark man nodded in a firmament.

The man looked at her closely, and she felt as if his black eyes were judging her, seeing straight through her. "Let me explain it for you, sweet. All humanity shares collective unconscious. It is my job to inspire and nurture that unconscious. I am the muse of music, of dance. Do you understand more clearly now?"

Ginny nodded slowly. "But I thought that the Muses were all women, and that there were nine of them?"

He smiled. "Oh no," he started rather smugly, "that's where the Greeks got it wrong! There aren't nine of us – there are only two. Four actually, but the other two buggers did a runner and we had to take over their duties. And we aren't all women –"

Ginny smirked "I can see that."

He looked at her playfully, "- in fact, that is a complete myth! My sister and I are the official 'muses' now."

"Your sister. So why are you here, talking to me?"

"Sweet, do you play a musical instrument? Do you sing? Write music?"

Ginny blushed and gave a little half smile. "Yes, I play the violin, the piano, and the classical guitar. I'm also learning the harp. I sing all of the time. And I've never really tried to write down the music – I play new things, but I can never really remember what I've played when I try to play it again."

White teeth flashed. "And that's where I come in. I want you to practice like you've never done before. You will also meet me here two days from now, and you will show me where we can go and work on the music. There is much work to be done."

The redhead felt compelled to agree – she'd never dream of denying this man. She'd never had someone offer to teach her either – in fact, she'd never had a teacher.

Looking at her wristwatch, she jumped up. "I've missed three lessons!" she exclaimed.

"Well then sweet, you must go now. Ginny, don't forget to meet me here in two days."

"I won't – what did you say your name was?" The dark man smiled.

"You may call me Marcus."

Turning and looking back at him over her shoulder, she said goodbye and rushed out of her garden.

Dark eyes followed her, and wondered what the future would bring.

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Ok, I got my research and ideas from ((http// www. Members.tripod. com/ amusedmuse/ muse 101.))

"All humanity shares collective unconscious." Is a quote from that site.


	4. Chapter Four

An Ordinary Ledged.

Chapter Four

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_Reader,_

_I have taken to addressing my letters, memoirs, reveries to 'you', as it makes me feel somewhat sane. She always did say I hid behind my safety blanket, deep within my comfort zone. _

_I cannot tell you much of the days that passed; she never mentioned them to me in great detail. I know she practiced, received instruction, just as I did. It never seemed out of the ordinary to us…_

… _And that is where our downfall was. Were we childish, unready? Silly questions, for a silly fool. Of course we were. We still are. Or rather, I still am. _

_I sit looking over an overgrown park out of a grimy inner-city window; the third gin and tonic of the hour cradled in my hand, my pens and my liquor the only things that I spend money on. I seem to live off of cigarettes and dreams, their smoky haze clouding my days, keeping me wrapped in their visions, fighting to find her._

_But she's gone._

_I suppose I should re-start. Re-tell the tale as she told me to tell it. **She** said that at the end, then, and only then would I find my release._

_But before this, I demand a refill. I will abandon all of my familiar prideful elegance, and stumble and slur my way through an excuse for my next drink._

_Because, if I'm honest, there's no way that my tongue will speak on my own – my mind, my heart, and my head are fully disjointed. _

_They were never together in the first place. Oh! Do forgive me; I've seemed to have splashed Gordon's down your page. _

_Well, reader. Perhaps tonight it is best just to sleep. Sleep and live in my dreams. Live in the life that was mine, the life of someone I never knew. _

_As always,_

_D. Malfoy._

A dark man read the words, a small soft smile on his face. He glanced at the passed out man with two days' stubble, and at the woman with ringlets twittering about his bed.

"Leave him," the man said "he's got to come to terms with it sometime. I suppose it would be easier to do it now than to waste energy while he's awake."

Blue eyes snapped up to meet her brother's. "I suppose…" she murmured hesitantly.

He grimaced. "Look, it'll be easier on him as well as us. Do you want to wait for another opportunity? Just look at him, he's fading away."

A cool hand rested on the blonde's forehead. "Oh, what have you done to yourself?" she asked. The dark man joined her by the bed. "What have we done to you?"

Together, they lay their twined hands on his forehead and on his heart, and a soft smile graced the carved marble features of the only Bard left.

"Come Elissa," the dark man said. The two turned and walked out of the door, paint peeling and falling to the rusty carpet. "We'll be back in a short while and he'll still be fine. Don't worry so much!"

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

_He sank in the darkness, warm and comforted. When he awoke, he was once again in his familiar emerald green bed, encased in velvet curtains and cut off from the world. Nothing, it seemed, would ever change._

Rolling out of bed, he reached for his robes and glanced at his wristwatch on the bedside table. "Shit!" he cried, hurling himself into his clothes and reaching for his black leather book and quill case, which he took everywhere with him nowadays.

A sleepy protest came from the next bed, curtains swaying with the occupant's movements. A cocoa hand reached out into the open, a one fingered salute Draco's greeting. "Piss off and go back to sleep you bleach-head."

"Go back to sleep, Blaise. It's not worth your dignity." A sigh was heard, and a thump sounded when his head hit the pillow. That, Draco thought gratefully, was that. Blaise never could function well before ten in the morning.

He quickly raced up to the tower room, long legs swiftly carrying him through now-familiar halls.

Reaching the portrait he flung the password at the man. "Sweet Irony!" he panted, hands on his knees.

And then, there she was. "Have you written, Draco?" He inched closer, drawing in her grace.

"Yes. I always write. You know that." She nodded, ringlets bouncing.

"And let me guess, it's getting harder in my presence." Draco raised an eyebrow, allowing himself that one concession. "And, it's easier after our meetings when you go outside and sit in the oak tree beside the rose garden, am I wrong?"

Draco shook his head. "No, you're right." A glowing smile broke out. "I knew it. I'll have to talk to Markus about this."

"Markus?" He asked, not sure if he was jealous. "My brother." She explained. "He knows someone I think you'll find interesting."

"Oh?" Draco asked, not really caring. "That's interesting." He took out his eagle feather quill, opened his black leather book and unscrewed the black ink that he always kept in the tower room.

"Elissa," he started, "what do you think of this? Why are you still bothering with me? All I do is write. It can't make for interesting and stimulating conversation."

The muse looked sadly at the blonde haired boy in front of her, blue eyes meeting grey. "Why shouldn't I, sweet? You have a gift. It is my job to see that this gift develops."

"Oh." He uttered. Elissa heard ever insecurity in that single syllable. If it were in her nature, she would have acted on the very strong urge to beat, curse, and hex Malfoy Senior. She continued to muse silently to herself as she watched lines upon lines of ink scrawl across the creamy pages in a spiky hand.

She would have to keep a large supply of chocolate on hand if this was the type of thinking Draco brought about.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

She sat in the garden, the roses surrounding her. She held a flute in her hands, staring at it.

"What do you mean just play it? I don't know how to."

"But you _will_ if you just try to play." Markus urged her. _Stubborn wench_.

"What part of **I don't know how to play **don't you understand?!" she snapped, frustration overtaking her sensibility.

"Damnit!" Markus cried. "Just play the damnable thing and you'll see what I mean. I can't explain it to you, you silly child!" He threw his arms up in the air and flung himself down on the dark grass, a scowl on his face.

"Fine." Ginny spat, and lifted the flute to her lips. As soon as the breath left her lips, a sarcastic and mournful melody left the flute, her fingers flying. She glanced up in shock, and saw the delight on her teacher's face.

The music became light and airy, happiness infusing the air around them. The roses leaned in, drawing in the energy. Their colours seemed to glow, and the air grew sweeter with their scent.

When she grew tired, she lowered the instrument. "So that's what you were talking about."

"Yes," said Markus. "You silly, stubborn, brilliant wench. That's what I was talking about. Now, the real test is if you can remember what you were playing."

Auburn eyebrows scrunched. "It started out in Minor. And then it changed. I think it was in G."

"Excellent!" the dark man crowed, leaping over to Ginny's side and engulfing her in his arms. "Oh, you clever thing, you!"

A muffled agreement came from his shoulder.

"You know," he started "my sister knows someone that I think you'll find very interesting."

"Indeed?" Ginny asked, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Indeed. I'll have to arrange a meeting soon, now that you've managed the most simple of things." She smacked him on the shoulder. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry." He conceded. "You're not _that _much of an embarrassment."

"Oh, I never!" she said, mocking the smug man beside her.

"Mmm," he murmured. "What time did you say it was?" Ginny looked at him oddly. "I didn't..." she looked at her wristwatch and trailed to a stop. "Oh Merlin! I was supposed to meet Hermione!"

"Well, off you go then." He watched her as she ran off, forgetting the flute. "Women." he sighed, banishing the instrument.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

_The man opened bleary grey eyes, but quickly shut them against the sunlight reflecting off of dingy cream apartment walls. He retreated into the darkness, and the shades of his memories. The vision of red chased him waking or sleeping, bittersweet in its persistence. _

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Three weeks later, and they had met. He didn't know quite how to explain it, but the air was became charged with … something … whenever she walked in_. Expectations-write-feeling-tension. _

He automatically took out the moleskin notebook, and looked at her. "Well?" he asked. "What have you been working on?"

She looked at him, brandy eyes breaking him. "Many things. What sort of thing were you thinking of?"

"I'm sorry," she said after a tense moment and rose to her feet, "I'm not sure how this going to work."

Draco felt a sort of desperation sweep over him "No. Don't." He wasn't sure what the 'don't' was in answer to. "It doesn't have to be this way. Just, take something out and play it."

Ginny swept glowing wisps of hair off of her forehead, nodded, and sat back down. "Fine." She said, and opened the case next to her, putting the flute together.

Draco wasn't sure what their music was, but it was some kind of magic he was unaccustomed to.

It was something they were unready for.


End file.
